'Powers of Mercy!' cried Laura, raising her eyes in strong compunction, 'have I made this mine idol!' Then, turning on Hargrave a look of deep repentance, 'Yes,' she continued, 'I deserve to see thee as thou art, without mitigation vile; since on thee my sacrilegious heart bestowed such love as was due to the Infinite alone!'
'Oh, Laura,' cried Hargrave, softened by the remembrance of her youthful affection, 'let but one faint spark of that love revive, and I will forget all your scorns, and feel again such gentle wishes as blest our first hours of tenderness. Or only swear that you will renounce that bane of my existence—that you will shrink from him, shun him like a serpent!—Or give me your word only, and I will trust it. Your liberty, your person, shall be as sacred as those of angels. Promise them—'
'Why do you attempt to terrify me?' said Laura, her indignation rising as her alarm subsided. 'I have perhaps no longer the right—even if I had the inclination—to utter such a vow. I trust that, in this land of freedom, I am safe from your violence. My reputation, frail as it is, you cannot harm without permission from on high; and if, for wise purposes, the permission be given, I doubt not that I shall be enabled to bear unjust reproach,—nay, even to profit by the wrong.'
Hargrave suffered her to conclude; rage bereft him, for a time, of the power of utterance. Then, bursting into a torrent of reproach, he upbraided her in language the most insulting. 'Do you dare to own,' said he, 'that your base inclinations favour that abhorred—that this accursed marriage is your choice—your free choice?' He paused in vain for a reply. Laura would not irritate him further, and scorned to disguise the truth. 'Then, Laura,' said he, and he confirmed the sentence with a dreadful oath, 'you have sealed your fate. Think you that your De Courcy shall foil me? By Heaven, I will see you perish first. I will tear you from him, though I answer it with my life and soul. Let this be the pledge of my triumph'—and he made a motion to clasp her rudely in his arms. With a cry of dread and horror, Laura sprung from him, and, throwing open the casement, called loudly for assistance. Hargrave forced her back. 'Spare your alarms, my lovely proud one,' said he, with a smile, which made her blood run cold. 'You are safe till we meet where cries will be useless. What! may I not even kiss this pretty hand, as earnest that you shall soon be mine beyond the power of fate?' 'Silence, audacious!' cried Laura, bursting into tears of mingled fear and indignation, while she struggled violently to disengage her hands. 'Nay, this rosy cheek will content me better,' cried Hargrave, and was again attempting to clasp her—when the door was burst suddenly open, and De Courcy appeared.
'Ruffian!' he exclaimed, approaching Hargrave, who, in his surprise, permitted his prey to escape. Her fears now taking a new direction, Laura flew to intercept De Courcy. 'Ah!' she cried, 'my folly has done this. Fly from this madman, I entreat you. I have nothing to fear but for you. Begone, I implore you.'
'And leave you to such treatment! Not while I have life! When you choose to go, I will attend you. For you, Sir!—But I must stoop below the language of a gentleman ere I find words to describe your conduct.'
'For Heaven's sake,' cried Laura, 'dear De Courcy, provoke him no further. Let us fly this place;' and clinging to De Courcy's arm, she drew him on; while, with the other, he defended her from Hargrave, who had advanced to detain her. Her expression of regard, her confiding attitude, exasperated the frenzy of Hargrave to the uttermost. Almost unconscious of his actions, he drew a pistol from his pocket and fired. Laura uttered a cry of terror, clasping her lover's arm more closely to her breast. 'Be not alarmed love,' whispered De Courcy. 'It is nothing!'—and staggering forward a few paces, he fell to the ground.
Laura, in desperation rushed from the summer-house, calling wildly for help; then struck with the fearful thought that Hargrave might complete his bloody work, she hastened back. During the few moments of her absence, De Courcy addressed his murderer, whose rage had given place to a mild stupor. 'I fear this is an unlucky stroke, Hargrave. Save yourself. My horse is at the gate.' Hargrave answered only with a groan; and, striking his clenched hand on his forehead, turned away. His crime was unpremeditated. No train of self-deceit had reconciled his conscience to its atrocity. The remembrance of the courage which had saved his life; the generous concern of De Courcy for his safety; humility, the last virtue which utterly forsakes us, all awakened him to remorse, keen and overwhelming, like every other passion of Hargrave. Not bearing to look upon his victim, he stood fixed and motionless; while Laura, on her knees, watched, in dismay, the changing countenance of De Courcy, and strove to staunch the blood which was streaming from his wound.
De Courcy once more tried to cheer Laura with words of comfort. 'Were it not,' said he, 'for the pleasure this kind concern gives me, I might tell you that I do not suffer much pain. I am sure I could rise, if I could trust this slender arm,' laying his hand gently upon it. Laura eagerly offered her assistance as he attempted to raise himself; but the effort overpowered him, and he sunk back fainting.
In the strong language of terror, Laura besought Hargrave to procure help. Still motionless, his forehead resting against the wall, his hands clenched as in convulsion, Hargrave seemed not to heed her entreaties. 'Have you no mercy?' cried she, clasping the arm from which she had so lately shrunk in horror. 'He saved your life. Will you let him perish without aid?' 'Off, woman!' cried Hargrave, throwing her from him. 'Thy witchcraft has undone me;' and he distractedly hurried away.